(First printed in SpaceWays Weekly, Dark Matter Chronicles)
THE LAST SPELLING BEE
by
Stephen D. Rogers
Glancing around the auditorium at the sixth-graders I had come to know so well, I decided that this wasn't such a bad beat after all. Of course yesterday I was cursing it, but today I knew that I was done at the end of the year. No more reviews of school plays, concerts, talent shows, art exhibits, science fairs, spelling bees, year after numbing year. Come summer, I was moving up to local government.
After today, I would never have to look another spelling bee in the face. "Arnold J. Merlin Middle School, I am graduating to the big time."
Taken unaware of the sudden applause, I came back to earth to see the principal walking onto the stage. "The principal is your pal" was the first tip given to the reporters assigned to the schools. The second was "You won't be there forever."
The principal cleared his throat before speaking. "Students, faculty, staff, and interested citizens. I'd like to welcome you to our annual Spring Spelling Bee. This year promises to be spectacular with four very talented young people vying for the win. Unfortunately I have a meeting to go to, so let me turn you over to our own Miss Didriksen, English teacher, magic coach, and keeper of the dictionary."
Could the Water Commissioners be any more obsequious?
Miss Didriksen came onto the stage, followed by four fifth-graders who rolled the dictionary on its special cart to the podium. As Miss Didriksen thanked her bearers and introduced the contestants, I made a note to double-check their names. Now was not the time to create an incident. One irate parent and I might yet not see Town Hall.
More than one of my colleagues had been destroyed by a letter to the editor. Not one of those letters had been free from error, but that was beside the point.
Miss Didriksen opened the dictionary at random and leaned forward to see where her finger had landed. "Amy, your word is RHYTHM."
Amy marched to center stage and lowered her head. Stretching out her arms, she slowly moved them on the horizontal and then pointed at the rear of the auditorium. There was a sound of a lone base drum.
She pointed to the right and a snare drum started keeping time, pointed to the left and a set of congo drums joined the fray.
Amy's hands jerked and pointed the various drum beats into a symphony of sound, half jazz, half jungle. The rhythm waxed and waned, rose and fell, built to a crescendo.
Amy lifted her arms straight up and the sudden silence was deafening until the applause began. Raising her head, Amy bowed and returned to her seat.
"Very good Amy." Miss Didriksen chose another word. "Brian, you have DISEASE."
Walking to the middle of the stage, Brian sat down in a lotus position, closing his eyes.
After the wild nature of the drums, the lull was a good opportunity to catch my breath, search for the best words to describe the magic I had just witnessed.
The quiet in the auditorium was broken by a single person coughing. Then a second person started coughing, and then there was a small group all trying to contain themselves.
On the other side of the auditorium, someone sneezed, and soon the person was surrounded by a half-a-dozen people sneezing.
After a short period of remission, both the cough and the sneeze began to spread in an ever widening circle. I was a sneezer myself, and almost immediately wished I had brought another handkerchief.
As the boundaries crossed, the people within the overlap were freed from both symptoms. The people in the farthest corners gave their last sneeze or cough, and again it was quiet.
Miss Didriksen shook her head. "I'm sorry Brian, but diseases don't cancel each other out."
Personally, I was just glad that Brian hadn't succumbed to sixth-grade hormones and decided to exhibit the spreading of VD. Now that would be a spelling bee to cover. I took a quick inventory of the people sitting around me, just in case.
Unfortunately, I found myself encircled by sixth-graders. The nearest teacher was five rows away, and his toupee was shriekingly obvious. On the other hand, I wouldn't mind experiencing a little black magic with Miss Didriksen.
She had never warmed to me during my stay here, but her lack of appreciation wasn't anything that a little spell couldn't handle. Any one of those four on the stage could probably mix up a suitable potion.
Perhaps I should befriend one of them before my stay here was complete. I may want to swing a vote someday, curry some favor downtown in return for an exclusive.
Not the winner though, I'd want to connect with one of the losers, someone who gave their all only to be frustrated by second, third, or fourth place. That little magician would be hungry to prove ability, to wallow in the power of getting the dog-walking bylaw passed.
Round after round went by as the spelling bee continued. Now I was paying less attention to the magic than to the magicians themselves. Who would be easiest to mold?
My story would suffer from my lack of attention, but maybe I could write a human interest piece rather than a straight review. The editor wouldn't care as long as I filled the space. I'd interview the four magicians after the contest, see what they thought about their performance and the outcome.
What made them decide to go out for magic instead of say, soccer? Were their parents proud? Was there a tradition in the family of casting spells?
I suddenly realized that only two students remained on the stage. In fact it was the final round, the score was tired, and Daniel was standing there waiting for the last word.
Thanking the sixth-grader sitting next to me for the update, I watched Miss Didriksen choose a word from the dictionary and then freeze. Even from my seat I could see her shiver, pale even.
The whole auditorium tensed as if reading over her shoulder.
How bad could it be?
The sixth-grader next to me grabbed my hand and squeezed.
Miss Didriken's voice trembled as she spoke. "Daniel, if you get this word, you're the winner of this year's spelling bee. You'll receive a hundred-dollar savings bond courtesy of National Bank, a free ice cream a day from Cone World, and a complimentary sitting at Fritz Photographer." She paused. "Daniel."
Coughing, Miss Didriken took a deep breath. "Daniel, your word is ARMAGEDDON